Lightning Rod
by Dracorum
Summary: DA:I. Sometime in-game. During the night she sneaked out to feel the sky rage against her bones. It's a good thing she didn't catch her death this time. Fluffy friendship short featuring Dorian and Cole.


The Inquisitor's richly austere quarters glowed red from the dying coals. She sat hunched over her expansive work table, scratching away at yet more reports about remnants of the Elder One's army.

Suddenly, the bay windows behind her rattled. Lavellan looked up, head tilted, and listened to the whispers of distant storms. She reached out with her mage's sense to gauge the distance between her and the building pressure in the air.

The eye was close. The rumbling of clouds rolled towards her in waves of pure energy that tickled her nape. She pushed back her chair and ran towards the door, papers promptly forgotten.

Her quarters was on one of the higher floors, but she wanted - needed - to be even higher. The guards' tower would be quiet. She knew most would be asleep as the hour was too late for drinking and dicing.

She nodded at the few miserable ones who were pacing away on their rounds as she went pass. They weren't much surprised to see her. The Inquisitor was odd, even for a Dalish, and they were used to her going wherever, whenever she pleased.

She ghosted her way to the top on her cloth-wrapped feet, careful not to disturb the soft snores of the resting humans. It was easy, perhaps _too_ easy. She would need to remember to have a word with Cullen about the level of alertness in the troops.

The top of the tower was open to the elements and the view of the approaching thunderheads was spectacular.

She watched the fast moving clouds strung lightning between them and felt the first restless stirrings of air. She breathed in lungfulls of the moist, earthy smell and grinned unconsciously. Then the storm was suddenly all around her. The full force of the wind crashed into her body, followed by sheets of rain. Nature threw their joyful rage against the unyielding stones of Skyhold as she laughed, lifted her arms, and called to the lightning. A flash of blinding energy and a shattering boom shook the air. She was the stream of light, the anchor between the sky and the earth in one eternal moment.

Then the wind moved on, and the rain passed, and the clouds grumbled their way north.

She lowered her arms and sighed, and jumped three feet into the air as a blanket was thrown over her head.

"What is-" she exclaimed as she struggled with the heavy wool fabric.

"No need to thank me for saving you from catching your death," the familiar sarcastic drawl with its perfect pronunciation.

Dorian.

She glared up at the taller mage, sheepishness accentuated by the fluff of the blanket, "You could have said something if you were there."

"I doubt you would have heard me as you were. I did not know savage Dalish elves were prone to episodes of catching and playing with lightning in the middle of the night when good, sane people were trying to catch some beauty rest."

"Savage! And I wasn't playing-"

He lifted one perfect eyebrow.

"-Much." she conceded, "How did you know I was up here?"

"A quaint sequence of round-robin. The sentry on duty reported the stray Inquisitor to Cullen, and Cullen told me after I graciously refrained from roasting him for the rude awakening. He postulated how you were most likely in a suicidal mindset, and rather than risk an expendable foot soldier, he sent the handsome Vint to take the fall."

She grimaced, "I'll try to avoid the sentries altogether next time. I know you need your beauty rest to keep your mustache fully formed."

He threw an arm around her as he smoothed the mustache in question, "So you hairless elves do appreciate the fine nuances of facial grooming! How novel. Fear not, I am fully expecting repayment for my services in preventing your death by unseasonal chills."

Dorian steered her easily toward the stairwell. Alys sighed inwardly. She was just a few degrees shy of being hoisted up like a sack but at least she was warm from his body heat. Now that she started thinking of temperature, she suddenly felt the chill of early autumn pierced her innards and shook her bones. She gritted her teeth to prevent the shivers from shattering them.

She stumbled on the steep stairs and Dorian, instead of letting go, swept her feet up from under her.

"Come along. The tavern should have a pint of whatever it is you heathens passed for drinks ready by now," Dorian soothed as he tucked her smaller frame easily into his arms. She felt a lot of unnatural heat radiated from his body in such an intimate position, and belatedly realized he was probably burning mana to keep her warm.

"Sorry about this," she managed to mumble through rapidly paling lips, "I just wanted to-"

"Shush. Just keep breathing," he said as he strode quickly along the slippery ramparts, clattered noisily down the flights of stairs leading to the central hearth of the Herald's Rest, and unceremoniously dumped her there. He waved a hand and the glowing logs burst into roaring flames from the injection of magic.

"Whazzat?" A sleepy voice accompanied the clinks of rolling tankards. Moments later, sounds of soft breathing resumed.

Dorian shook his head, "Typical Sera, sleeping under tables while a perfectly made bed goes to waste. Stay awake, Inquisitor. I will be back shortly."

She curled tighter under the now damp blanket and nodded. She heard him moved away and called for Cabot, the bartender.

The fire was enough to make steam rise from her clothes, but she couldn't feel her fingers where she gripped the blanket, or her toes tucked under her. Grey mist started to crowd her vision and her head started to sink. Her skin was supposed to be scorching in front of this small inferno but she couldn't feel the heat. It reminded her of the past. The Lavellan clan fireside was warm and inviting to others, but never to her. She was First, but she was also different. Alone, except for lores and lessons and practices and secrets and more, always more questions than answers…

"Don't sleep. Dorian said not to sleep."

"Cole," she whispered, tried to open her eyes.

"Yes. I am here. We are here. This isn't Clan Lavellan. It's cold. I'm tired, so tired. Let me rest, let me go. You can't go. You're needed here. Stay awake."

"Cole? What are you- Alys!" She felt a hand pressed against her forehead, "She's running a fever. Cabot, go get the healer!"

"I'm fine," she thought she said, but no voice came out of her parched throat.

"I'm awake but I feel nothing. There's the fire, but it's so cold. I don't want to be cold. Only lightning came to me. The storm is my friend, the wind my ally. With it, I can defeat my enemies. With it, I feel one with the sky."

"Cole, don't-" she tried to say again but instead slumped forward into waiting arms.

* * *

"I hope you are proud of yourself." Dorian said as he flicked her forehead. "You went days without sleep, ate only when food was put into your hand, ran like a madwoman into the first thunderstorm of autumn, had the highest fever the healer had ever seen people not die from, and only got away with a week of bed rest afterwards."

She rubbed the welt surely forming between her eyebrows, "And I apologized to you already. In fact, I say 'sorry' between every two breaths I take whenever I have a conversation with you."

"I feel I deserve at least a thousand apologies. I counted and you've only said 'sorry' two hundred and twenty-three times."

She groaned.

"Look at the bright side, at least 'sorry' has two syllables, instead of 'apologies' which has three." He leaned back against the bedside chair, "What demon possessed you to do it?"

"I-" she started, stopped, and blushed, "You're going to call me names again if I tell you."

"Calling you names that are true does not count as insults, in my opinion. Varieties of 'reckless' and 'thoughtless' come to mind."

She drew her cover high over her head, "Leave me be, Dorian."

"Just tell me."

She peeked over her pretty Orlesian-style covers and saw he was surprisingly earnest. And worried.

She clambered up and leaned against the piled pillows, "I just...love stormy weather. That's all. And I am sorry I didn't take better care of myself and forgot the season. I didn't mean to trouble anyone-"

"Alys. Cole told me." Dorian interrupted.

She choked. He hurried to continue, "But I didn't hear much. You know how he speaks, cryptic as a researcher talking about mating behaviors of Ferelden Frostbacks. I want to hear your reasons from _you_ ," he paused, "If you don't mind."

She fell silent. Dorian waited.

The wind rattled the expensive glass windows of her room. She looked out of them into the night and sighed.

"It was - is - a childhood comfort ritual. Whenever being in the clan was too much for me, I would climb the highest tree around and call for lightning. It made me feel like I belonged. That I was someone with a place in the world, not different from everyone else, not labeled with 'First' or 'Second'." She trailed off and sighed again, "It's comforting to be one with nature...and it's stupidly dangerous too. I know."

"Well, for what it's worth, you're not alone in feeling that way. People do, at one time or another, mages or not, elves or not, sometimes feel like they don't belong anywhere." Dorian inspected his nails, "I don't know the specifics, of course, being as I belong everywhere there is a need for sophistication."

"Of course," she replied with a straight face.

"And I feel like that because of you, Alys." Dorian reached over and squeezed her cheeks together in one hand, "Your words and your sensibilities blew mine own insecurities away, and gave me, _gave a lot of us_ , a place to belong.

True, it is infuriating to be taught something by a much younger person, but I have to give credits where it is due. Am I right Cole?"

Cole simply nodded and continued to sit staring at her from the foot of the bed where he had appeared.

"With that out of the way, don't go running into any more lightning storms please, for the sake of my own sensibilities." He released her and patted her cheek. "Get some rest."

He clattered down the stairs, leaving her with Cole for company. She slid down the bed again and drew up the covers over her head.

She felt a little overwhelmed by her emotions, but it was fine. It was typical of Dorian to leave her feeling this way and escape.

"Happy. Happy, but sad too. What do you call this? I've seen someone cry and smile together before but I don't know the words."

"I don't think we have a word for it Cole. It's just something we feel. It's different for everyone."

"You're more happy than sad. That's good. I don't want you to feel sad. We're very happy you're well again."

"Thank you Cole. I'm going to sleep now."

"Good night Alys."

"Good night Cole."

Good night everyone, she whispered as she drifted off, listening to raucous singing from the hall below, wishing her well.


End file.
